Charlie sat there, and the two house-dogs came nuzzling around him. Obviously, even the dogs were interested in the stranger; he must mean a lot of new smells. But they sensed that the stranger had been received. Although at first they were merely neutral, soon they relaxed comfortably under Charlie’s pulling of their ears and scratching of their backs. Their tails wagged.
Ish, always realizing that people were likely to baffle him, felt himself swing back and forth. Now he sensed both power and charm in Charlie, and felt almost warm toward him. And then the very sense of power and charm caused him to react, perhaps with fear for his own position as a dominant force in the community, and he felt Charlie only as a thing of evil.
At last George woke from his nap, stretched his big body and rose, saying that it was time for him to get home to bed. The others made ready to go with him. Ish knew that Ezra would want to say a word to him personally before going, and so he drew Ezra aside into the kitchen.
“You feeling bad?”
“Me? No,” said Ezra. “Never felt better in my life.”
Ezra smiled, and Ish began to see light. “You weren’t chilly?” he asked.
“Never felt less chilly in my life,” said Ezra. “Just wanted to see if we could make Charlie take his vest off. I didn’t think we could. He don’t like to be away from it. Makes me pretty sure about what I think I see anyway. He’s got a vest-pocket he’s deepened himself, enlarged it. He’s got in it one of those little things they used to make for ladies to carry around in their purses—just a small piece of hardware!”
Ish had a sudden sense of relief. Anything as simple and concrete as a pistol—that could be handled! His relief faded as Ezra went on:
“I wish I was sure about him. Sometimes I think there’s something ugly and dirty and mean—clear to the middle of him. Sometimes I think he’ll be my best friend. Always, though, I know he’s one that knows what he wants and generally gets it.”
When they went back to the living-room, George was just leaving.
“This is the best thing that’s happened to us for a long time,” he was saying to Charlie. “We’ve needed another strong man. We hope you stay with us.”
There was a general confirmation chorus from the others, as all of them,
Charlie and Ezra included, went out the door.
Ish was left standing with his thoughts. He had tried to join in the chorus, but his tongue had been suddenly stiff and his mouth dry. All he could think now was: “Something dirty and ugly and mean—clear to the middle of him.”
Chapter 7
After they had gone, Ish thought of something that he had not done during all those years. In fact, after he had decided to do it, he was not sure whether he still could. Yet, when he went into the kitchen, he found that there was a bolt on the back door. He could remember his mother having had it put there because she never trusted ordinary locks. He shot that bolt. Then he went to the front door, and found that there was still a workable night-latch.
In all these years, there had been no need to secure a door. No one in the community was to be feared; no stranger, if there had been one, would have had a chance of getting through the cordon of dogs. But now there was someone, perhaps not to be trusted, and he had made friends with the dogs. Had that patting of the dogs had calculation behind it?
When Ish had gone to bed and shared his apprehensions with Em, he found her not very responsive. Sometimes, he realized, she was too all-accepting for him.
“What’s so remarkable about him carrying a gun?” she said. “You carry one yourself, lots of the time, don’t you?”
“Not concealed! And I’m not afraid to take my vest off, and be away from my weapon.”
“Yes, but maybe you should give him a break for being nervous and uncomfortable, too. You don’t like his looks; maybe he don’t like yours. He’s among strangers—surrounded!”
Ish felt a surge of resentment, almost anger, against Charlie, the intruder.
“Yes,” he said, “but we are on the ground here; this is our place; he comes breaking in; he must adapt himself to us; not we to him.”
“You’re right, darling, I guess. But anyway, let’s don’t talk about it any more now. I’m going to sleep.”
If there was any one thing that Ish had always envied in Em, it was her capacity to go to sleep merely by saying so. As for him, the harder he thought about going to sleep, the longer he was likely to take, and he could never slow down his mind as he wanted to. Now again he felt it settle to work. For suddenly he had a new idea, and a disturbing one. The trouble was, he decided, that he had to think of himself as pitted against Charlie in a personal struggle. If The Tribe had been really drawn together already into some firm organization, if there were some symbolic unity by which they presented an unbroken front, then the mere advent of any stranger, strong though he might be as an individual, would be of little moment. Now it might be too late. The stranger had come already, and he must be met as man to man.
And Charlie would be no mean opponent. Already he had won the loyalty and friendship of Dick and Bob, and doubtless of others of the younger ones. George was obviously impressed. Ezra seemed doubtful. What was this strange charm, backed by strength?
Ish could not sense why anyone felt a liking for Charlie, but the fact was that they did. And the fact might be also that he himself was too narrowly prejudiced against the man, out of a spirit of rivalry, to feel Charlie’s real strength. But of one thing he began to feel certain. There would be some contest between the two of them. Just what form this contest would take, he could not yet know. But since they lacked the solidarity of anything that could be called a state, the contest would be an individual one.
Or at worst, it would be a struggle of factions with two opposing leaders. On whom could be, Ish, depend? He was not really a leader. He had been a leader so far, doubtless, by default—because George had been too stupid and Ezra too easygoing to offer any competition. Oh, intellectual leadership, yes! But in any basic struggle for power, the intellectual man went under. He thought of the deceptively pretty eyes of baby-blue; yet they had a coldness such as dark eyes could never show.
“Who will follow my banner?” he questioned dramatically. Even Em seemed to be failing him. She had made light of things, almost defended Charlie. All at once Ish felt himself the scared little boy of the Old Times. Of all these people Joey alone was the one who could thoroughly understand, the only one on whom he could always count. And Joey was a little boy, physically frail even for his years. What help could he be against the rush of Charlie’s power? No, not pig-eyes, he thought again. They are a boar’s eyes!
Finally, however, he said to himself, “This is the mere madness of midnight; these are only the wild fantasies that come to a man in the darkness when he cannot sleep.” And he managed, at last, to dismiss the thoughts from his mind, and to sleep.
In the morning things indeed looked better—not altogether rosy, perhaps, but at least not too dark. He ate breakfast in a good enough mood. He was happy to see Bob at the breakfast table again, and by questioning got from him some more details of the trip.
Then, just as he was beginning to feel comfortable, the whole thing broke loose on him when Bob spoke.
“I guess,” he said, “I’ll go over and see Charlie now.”
Ish felt a sudden desire to snap out a bit of fatherly advice, “I wouldn’t see so much of that fellow, if I were you.” But he saw Em’s eyes saying no, and he himself knew that such advice would only make Charlie seem forbidden and more attractive. He still kept wondering what fascination Charlie exercised upon the two boys.
Bob went, and after the morning chores were finished, the other children drifted off too. “What is the fascination?” said Ish to Em.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “It’s just the attraction of a stranger, something new. Isn’t that natural?”
“There is trouble ahead!”
“Perhaps,” said Em, and Ish suddenly realized that that was the first time she had admitted the possibility,
